


Benar, Benat

by seashadows



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Don't copy to another site, Elizabethan English, Friends With Benefits, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Other, Power Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Topping from the Bottom, in which they bang in an Elizabethan thieves' den after Hamlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: Crowley’s lips quivered. With his eyes hidden, Aziraphale couldn’t tell if he was trying to hold back a smile or a frown. “God’s wounds, angel, I suppose I have no choice.”“No choice in what, exactly?” said Aziraphale, trying not to be offended at the curse. Crowley was far too good at puffing up his feathers, as it were. “Don’t be cryptic, my dear. It doesn’t suit you.”Crowley let out a long breath through his nose. “Well, come on, then,” he said, and yanked Aziraphale by the arm down the nearest side street.(On a certain day in 1601, Aziraphale finds out about Crowley's less-than-savory hobbies. The knowledge has an unexpected effect on him.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 232
Collections: Chaotic Omens: The Fallout of a Big Bang





	Benar, Benat

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Moonvale (goodnightmoonvale on Tumblr) for beta-reading!
> 
> This fic contains many words in Elizabethan thieves' cant. Translations are available by clicking on the endnotes. The title means "better, best" in cant - it's truly a fascinating language!

He had always tried to be sedate, but Aziraphale was never able to keep the lightness out of his step when he was happy, and these days, a bit of fruit and a good play made him the happiest of all. “Wasn’t that lovely?” he said, happily taking the lead as he and Crowley left the Globe. “That’s going to be such a success, I know it.” With a bit of demonic help, at least, but William didn’t have to know that.

“Oh, aye,” Crowley said, sounding distracted. He shaded his eyes above his glasses and looked at the lengthening rays of the sun overhead. “Shouldn’t be too long before sunset,” he muttered, and then turned back, catching himself. “Good stuff, angel. Beneship[1].”

“Yes, I should think so,” Aziraphale said – and the last word out of Crowley’s mouth hit him like a knock to the bells at St. Paul’s. “Bene… _Crowley_.”

“What?” Crowley linked his hands behind his back and ground a heel into the dirt with an annoyed huff. Aziraphale winced; those were fine shoes, better quality than his own. “What is it now, angel? If this is about Edinburgh, I did the last blessing of yours and you know it.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. Why did Crowley have to be so…well, _difficult_? He knew he should have been grateful that a demon he was always meant to be thwarting was even this approachable, but really, an angel had limits. “Don’t play the fool with me,” he said. “Before –“ He stopped himself before he could utter a blasphemous oath, and pulled Crowley to the side of the street instead, avoiding a pile of horse leavings. Perhaps there was a good reason Crowley disliked horses. “There’s one type of person I’ve heard using those words, and if it’s anything to do with the sort of person you normally spend your time with, I must insist you return any stolen valuables on your person to their true owners!”

Crowley’s lips parted, and Aziraphale could see the beginnings of raised eyebrows over the upper edge of his glasses. “You think I hoisted these clothes, do you?”

And there he went again with that language. “Well,” Aziraphale sputtered, “what…what was I supposed to think? You said b…er, ah…” He cut off the tarnished word threatening to come out of his mouth. “I shudder to think of the sorts of people you’ve been learning _those_ terms from.”

“Those sorts of – oh, for _Sssatan’s_ sake, angel!” Aziraphale knew, even with the glasses in the way, that Crowley was rolling his eyes to the heavens. “I don’t take clothes or valuables. Why would I need to?”

“So you’re not acquainted with the sort of person who does?”

Crowley flashed him a sharp grin. “Now I never said _that._ Curious?”

Aziraphale prided himself on not prying into mysteries. Those were for humans, or for the occasional sinful-minded demon. But if he walked away now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get thoughts of Crowley’s activities out of his head. “What if I am?”

Crowley’s lips quivered. With his eyes hidden, Aziraphale couldn’t tell if he was trying to hold back a smile or a frown. “God’s wounds, angel, I suppose I have no choice.”

“No choice in what, exactly?” said Aziraphale, trying not to be offended at the curse. Crowley was far too good at puffing up his feathers, as it were. “Don’t be cryptic, my dear. It doesn’t suit you.”

Crowley let out a long breath through his nose. “Well, come on, then,” he said, and yanked Aziraphale by the arm down the nearest side street.

Miracle energy washed over them, and Aziraphale blinked as he found himself in another alley, smaller and darker and much, much dirtier. “Where are we?” he asked.

“Blackfriars,” Crowley said. “Your curiosity is about to get you into trouble, angel.” He turned to Aziraphale and took him by the shoulders. “I need your word that no one else is about to get in trouble because of you.”

“I…er…” What sort of vipers’ nest had he agreed to walk into? “Will I be hurt? I don’t want to be discorporated, Crowley. The wait time for new bodies has been extended by at least a century, from what I’ve heard.”

“I won’t let _anyone_ hurt you,” Crowley said, so fiercely that Aziraphale almost stepped back in surprise. “Angel, you can walk away right now if that’s what you want. Do you believe me?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I do,” he said, and strangely, that was what imbued him with the fortitude to go on. “Take me wherever you please.” What sort of angel was he? He had no reason to trust a demon. But Crowley was – he was _more_ than a demon, or perhaps less than one.

Crowley pressed his knuckles to his mouth and stifled a strange sound that might have been a laugh. “With me,” he said. “Clothes like yours, anyone here would think you’ve got a chunk o’ gin[2] on you somewhere.”

“Chunk of…what, exactly?” Aziraphale said.

“Don’t think too much, angel.” Crowley led him into the crack where two dilapidated houses leaned against each other, the outer walls damp and mossy. He pulled a key from his doublet and unlocked a dingy door that nearly faded into the wall, then lifted his chin to beckon Aziraphale inside.

Aziraphale followed, and wrinkled his nose at the rank smell of the dim little antechamber as Crowley locked the door behind him. “What place is this, Crowley?”

“I don’t think you want to ask,” said Crowley. He rapped on the door before them, this one smaller than the first. “Tell a joke[3], lads, it’s the crow.”

“The crow, or a hole in need of plugging[4]?” came a muffled voice from behind the door.

“This crow won’t sing[5],” Crowley said, “nor bring a beak[6] here.” 

There was a pause, and then Aziraphale heard the tumblers of a lock slide into place. The door opened a crack, enough for a suspicious face to peer out and scowl at him. “That one’s equipt[7].”

Crowley shoved his foot into the space between the wall and the door, yanking it open. “He’s a bene cull, and I’m no turncoat,” he said. “Aziraphale, come in or you’ll let the stink out.”

“Fie, a pox upon thee[8],” the man muttered as Aziraphale picked his way carefully into the room beyond. “Bene cull[9], he says!”

“At least he washes,” Crowley shot back.

Aziraphale looked around as discreetly as he could. The air reeked of smoke and less savory odors he didn’t want to think about, and soot stains ran halfway up the walls, visible even in the dimness. The look of the place confirmed his suspicions: this was a thieves’ den, a rather successful one at that. Trust Crowley to be involved in something of the sort. “Er,” he said, “good day to you.”

The only light in the windowless room was the flickering glow of candles, placed haphazardly on tables and floor alike. Aziraphale thought he saw movements in the shadows, and the gleam of eyes watching him. “I’m a friend of Crow…er, the crow,” he added. “I’ll do you no harm.”

“Can we get some light in here?” Crowley snapped from behind him. “I’ll do it.” He lit a match and placed two fat tallow candles on the nearest table, and suddenly the light in the room was a fair bit less ominous. Aziraphale suspected a tiny bit of miracle involvement, but he also suspected that Crowley’s companions noticed and didn’t care. “Aziraphale is my friend, understand?”

“That’s an oak[10] friend you’ve got there, Crow,” said a man, even thinner than Crowley, who was hunched over a deck of cards nearby. He slid a card across the table to someone in a grimy brown cloak. “Will he get us frummagemmed[11] for liftin’[12]?”

“Never,” said Crowley. “Aziraphale and I’ve known each other for years. And…” He leaned across the table. “Don’t cry beef[13], but he’s a fair bene feaker[14] ‘imself.”

The man at the table lifted his head, interest sparking in his eyes. “Aye? Benar, benar.” He looked Aziraphale up and down with an appraising eye that made Aziraphale blush and resolve to keep an eye on his brass buttons. If he wasn’t careful, he knew they’d be off his clothing before he walked out. “Draw the king’s picture[15], do ye?”

“Er. Mm.” Aziraphale shifted in place and looked at Crowley, whose covered eyes – as usual – betrayed nothing. He didn’t think he wanted to know what a bene feaker was. “Ah…sometimes?”

A general murmur of approval went around, and then the room was alive with what Aziraphale could only assume was the usual level of activity. Good. He’d learned from experience that when one was backed against the wall, it was better to be ignored than the alternative. Especially when one was an angel.

Crowley loped over and pulled a three-legged stool over to the table, sitting on it at his usual angle. “Any of you quatches[16] got food?” he said. Someone threw an apple, and he caught it out of the air with a whoop, then sank his teeth into it.

Aziraphale watched the movement of Crowley’s lips and tongue as he licked off the juice that the apple left. He cleared his throat. The room was already warm, but now he felt overheated. Perhaps more alarmingly, his codpiece felt far tighter than usual. For the first time, he wished he’d chosen one of the more ostentatious designs; at least a flashy one would have been large enough to conceal this particular sin.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley said. “Hungry?” He took a die out of his pocket and tossed it from hand to hand. “Anyone game[17] another apple?”

“Weren’t all out at the theatre ‘til six dirty fingers[18], Crow,” said the man who answered the door, snorting. “Got the makings for parings[19] off a beggar-maker[20], me an’ Hawk. Bugged[21] ‘em with buttons[22].”

“Oh, bene,” said Crowley in a lightly mocking tone. He took another bite from his apple. The juicy crunch forced a tiny noise from Aziraphale’s throat; he hoped Crowley wouldn’t notice, but the tilt of Crowley’s chin told him that he had heard. “Aziraphale – look out.” He threw apple, and Aziraphale caught it on reflex. “There. Not _scrumptious_ like your grapes, but it’ll do.” The lazy drawl in his voice elongated every word.

Aziraphale swallowed hard and looked at the apple’s deep red skin, felt its firmness under his fingers. His mouth filled with saliva, but he knew without a doubt that he wasn’t hungry for food. He hungered for what he and Crowley had done one decadent night in Rome. What Crowley had done to him – _for_ him – in Jerusalem when they fought on opposite sides of the Crusades. It had been so long, and yet he felt the ghost of Crowley’s touch like it had happened only minutes ago.

He cursed his human corporation for the way his eyes instinctively followed the movements of Crowley’s long fingers. He cursed his weak belly for its fluttering, and the _damnable_ place beneath for how much it stirred. Bless it, was his uncontrollable lust for a demon year after year part of the ineffable plan? Was She having a joke at his expense?

“Aziraphale?” Crowley said. “What’s ailing you?”

“Oh – oh, nothing.”

Crowley tapped his fingertips against his chin, raising an eyebrow. Aziraphale reddened, feeling rather like Crowley was seeing into his head. Perhaps he was; so much of demonology was still a mystery to him. “Right,” Crowley said, “everyone out.”

A mass rumble of discontent, for which Aziraphale couldn’t really blame anyone, followed his words. “You don’t mean to have a chat with[23] him _here_!” someone said indignantly.

“Out!” Crowley repeated. “Go to[24], the lot o’ you! I’ve covered oft enough when one of you was swivin’[25] someone.” He reached into his doublet and flipped a gold coin in a perfect arc towards the door. “Get some bowse[26] and don’t come back ‘til thumbs[27], you pennyweighters[28].”

Whatever he’d said, it caused a near stampede in the direction of the door, followed in quick succession by a loud slam that shook the walls. “I didn’t understand half of that,” Aziraphale said, gingerly touching his ringing ears. “Except for, er.” His face and neck blazed with heat. One couldn’t stay on Earth long and not know what _swive_ , or whatever the current word was, signified. “Are you…do you want to…?”

“You have no idea how much I _want to_ , angel,” Crowley said. He looked just as unsteady as his voice sounded. “If I can’t kiss you right now, I don’t think –“

Aziraphale interrupted him by kissing him so hard that he heard the breath leave Crowley’s lungs, hooking his arms around the demon’s neck and rubbing up against the front of his ridiculous black clothing – really, did he always have to try so hard to make a point with them? “Crowley,” he said, “oh, my dear boy, I really must have you.” He fisted his hand in Crowley’s hair and pulled his head closer to kiss him again. “Or let you have me.”

“Angel,” Crowley said, “I – _hngh_ , God’s wounds,” he gasped as Aziraphale attacked his long neck with teeth and tongue, “I think we’d better move to…oh, bloody _Heaven_!” Aziraphale licked one of the long tendons for the pleasure of hearing him whimper. “Bed, angel? Please?”

“Take me there,” said Aziraphale. No matter the smell, or however shabby any bed here was likely to be, he wanted Crowley so badly that his vision pulsed with it. “Now. Please, now.”

Crowley nodded and took Aziraphale by the hand, sending a shock up Aziraphale’s spine. He would never stop wondering at the sensitivity of these corporations. “This way,” he said. He maneuvered around the obstacles on the floor, then led Aziraphale through a curtain covering an opening in the wall. “Here. I, er…it’s not much.”

It really wasn’t. The bed in the tiny room was nothing more than a stack of straw pallets on the floor, covered with wool blankets that looked very much like they might be infested with fleas. Aziraphale’s fingers twitched with the desire to perform a fast miracle, but he quelled the impulse and clenched his ready fingers into a loose fist instead. “Don’t worry, Crowley,” he said. “I don’t mind, truly.”

“Oh. Good.” Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. “Angel, do you…you want…what do you want?”

Aziraphale licked his lips. “I want to see you without your clothes,” he said. Crowley was never more beautiful than when the last of his garments had dropped to the floor, or – as in the case of their first time in Rome – been thrown with such force that they hit the wall. “You’re so beautiful.”

Crowley’s face went bright pink. “I – all right.” He began to undo his doublet with fingers that, Aziraphale noticed, had begun to shake.

That would never do. “Crowley,” Aziraphale said, “I know it’s been a long time, but you _know_ me.” He put his hand on Crowley’s chest, light and as soothing as he could make it. “You don’t need to be hesitant around me. May I see you without your glasses?”

Crowley pulled off his glasses and let them drop to the floor. His irises had spread nearly to the edges of his eyes, pupils dilated just slightly with the arousal that parted his lips and flooded his cheeks with color. “Like this, angel?”

“Just like that,” Aziraphale said. “Wonderfully done, Crowley.” He stole another kiss and set both hands on Crowley’s chest. “Let me.”

As always, the process of taking off clothing went far too quickly for Aziraphale’s liking, much as he tried to make it slow. Yet the sight of Crowley standing there, his part standing proudly and his blush reaching down past his navel, more than made up for any disappointment. “Oh, my,” Aziraphale said, treating himself to a shameless ogle. “You look well, Crowley.”

“So do you,” said Crowley in a voice so rough that Aziraphale nearly puffed up with pride at what he’d wrought. “Satan, Aziraphale, I want you. What do you want from me?”

Aziraphale stepped closer and stole another kiss, splaying his hands on the bony stretch of Crowley’s spine. “I’d rather like to have you inside me,” he said against Crowley’s lips.

Crowley made a strange, strangled noise and squeezed Aziraphale’s backside. “I, er. I want…uh, me, too,” he said. “You…do you have anything? To –“ He held up his hands and made a universal, albeit crude, motion. “That.”

“There’s no need,” Aziraphale said. “I can make things a bit easier.”

“But I want to see you do it to yourself,” Crowley insisted. “Can’t get that with a miracle.”

Aziraphale’s prick twitched eagerly in response. “Oh, dear,” he said faintly. It seemed Crowley’s preference for _watching_ extended beyond food. “Are you certain? It’ll be slower, and your friends might return.”

Crowley waved a dismissive hand. “They won’t be,” he said. “I might have pointed out that I’ve had to do the same thing for them before.” He smiled, showing his pointed teeth.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale with a laugh, “I gathered that much.” He pulled Crowley close and kissed him silly, kissed him until he could feel Crowley melt under his hands and mouth. Crowley hadn’t much of a bottom to grab, but Aziraphale made do, and Crowley’s noises when he did so spurred him on.

When Crowley broke away, his lips were swollen and wet, and his pupils pulsed with visible arousal. “I think we ssshould go to bed,” he said. He licked his lips; the tip of his tongue had split into two points. “What do you sssay, angel?”

“I say that’s a marvelous idea,” Aziraphale said. “Would you lie down, my dear?”

Crowley nodded convulsively and backed up until he fell backwards onto the bed, then scrambled up on his elbows. “Will you…”

“Yes, dear boy. Of course.” Aziraphale brought a glass vial to his hand with a thought and poured a good amount onto his fingers as he sat down. The wool blankets were scratchy, as he’d feared. Ah, well, it couldn’t be helped. “You’ll watch me, won’t you, Crowley?”

“’Course,” Crowley said. His lips parted, and Aziraphale felt a prickle of un-angelic satisfaction at how loud and hoarse Crowley’s breath was. “Go on and…do that.”

Aziraphale reclined on the barely-a-bed next to Crowley, lying on his side and drawing up one knee so that Crowley could see everything going on. He drew a well-oiled finger down the curve of his cock and around his bollocks. “Mmm,” he said with a shiver, “do you like w-what you see, my dear Crowley?”

“Yes,” said Crowley, and then “ _ygh!_ ” as Aziraphale teased himself with a fingertip just inside his hole. “Oh, angel.”

“It feels wonderful,” Aziraphale said. He could hear how breathy his voice was, how aroused; the lower half of his body sang with sensation when he slid his finger inside himself. It had been so _long_ since he bared himself to Crowley like this. “Mm…” He crooked his finger to tease himself, then got on with the business of oiling a second and stretching himself well.

Crowley wrapped his hand around his own straining cock and stroked, his head falling back with pleasure. “God’s wounds, angel, you’re tormenting me!”

“Good,” Aziraphale gasped. He worked at himself with two fingers, which he soon replaced with three. A bit of teasing was all well and good, but after centuries without this, without _Crowley_ , he wanted to get on with it as soon as possible. “Can I – I’d like to sit on you, Crowley. Sit on top and ride you.”

Crowley whimpered and covered his face with his free hand, a blush seeping down his neck. “Damn you.”

Aziraphale withdrew his fingers and proffered the oil. “I don’t think that’s quite within your power, my dear. Why don’t you make yourself nice and slippery?”

“Gladly,” Crowley said, and snatched the vial. He slicked himself up with quick, rough strokes and lay back, staring at Aziraphale with heavy-lidded eyes. “Ssssit on me, eh? Will you?”

In reply, Aziraphale boldly took Crowley’s cock in hand and positioned himself over it, then sank down in a slow slide. The noise Crowley made in return was not human, all the better for Aziraphale’s state of arousal. “Oh, _my_ ,” he sighed, twitching all over. “Oh, Crowley, this…I’ve missed this.” Crowley felt wonderful inside him, just enough stretch and more than enough stimulation.

Crowley shivered all over and dug his teeth into his bottom lip as he brought his shaking hands up to rest on Aziraphale’s hips. “You’re ssso…”

“What am I, dear?” Aziraphale began to move, hissing to rival Crowley when the cock inside him pressed _just so_ against his most sensitive of areas. Perhaps he needed to make an effort more often, and test things before his next…assignation with Crowley. He certainly planned for there to be more. “Wh-what do you like?”

“Everything. God!” Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s flesh with long, cool fingers. “Jussst you, angel.”

Aziraphale rewarded him by moving in earnest. The eager thrusts of his hips soon turned into full-on bouncing that rustled the poor-quality pallets beneath them, and the straw scratched the tips of his toes where their exertions had thrust the blankets aside. His eyes fell closed, but he forced them open to take Crowley in, from his flat, heaving belly to his lovely eyes, ridiculous beard taking up space in between. “Ah,” he squeaked, “ _mmm_ , Crowley, you feel wonderful!”

“Th…th _nghhh_ …thanks,” Crowley gasped. His pupils were expanding and contracting in rhythm, going from slits to a shape like a lens. “Going to –“

“Not before me,” Aziraphale said. He wasn’t going to go hundreds of years without these pleasures and not take his own first. “W-wait, I… _I_ …” He rolled his hips and cried out in frustration; he was so close, but he couldn’t quite reach that crest.

And then a hand was wrapped around his cock, _Crowley’s_ hand, and the pressure of his fingers around the shaft and his thumb moving over the head was enough to make Aziraphale’s eyes roll up in his head. “Crowley – Crowley!” His chest shuddered with the force of his indrawn breath, and he pushed forward as he came, gloriously, between them.

He sat, slumped forward with the aftershocks running through him. Even with his eyes closed, he could nearly see the way Crowley’s face screwed up as he neared orgasm. “Angel,” Crowley whimpered, “oh,” and Aziraphale felt it ripple through him with the force of an earthquake.

When Crowley regained his energy, Aziraphale knew it by the way the demon’s hands slid up his chest, petting and caressing his chest down to his belly and thighs. “Dear boy,” Aziraphale told him, “that feels wonderful.” He opened his eyes and smiled down at Crowley, then stretched his arms high over his head and clambered off Crowley’s softened cock. “I quite enjoyed myself.”

Crowley snorted. “An understatement, as usual,” he said, rubbing his palm in a circle around the mound of Aziraphale’s belly. Aziraphale squeaked; Crowley’s touch was just light enough to tickle. “Do you want to clean up the old-fashioned way, too?”

“No, of course not,” Aziraphale said, and snapped his fingers. The sweat disappeared from his skin and Crowley’s, and for good measure, so did the lingering feeling of fleas in the bed. He did hope that Crowley’s friends appreciated that. “Shall we dress?” He bent over and reached for his hose, allowing himself the luxury of a slow movement – if it showed a certain part of him to Crowley, then that was neither here nor there.

“Gadzooks, give me a few minutes,” Crowley said in a tone tinged with far too much affection. Aziraphale hid a smile as he picked up his clothing. “You wrung me out.”

Aziraphale finally miracled himself into his clothes and turned to look at Crowley, who was still reclining on the bed. “If I did, then you’d best get some rest, my dear,” he said. “I’ll see myself out.”

“Are you sure?” Crowley asked.

“Yes,” Aziraphale told him. “I’ll find my way back to Southwark without any trouble. What was that lovely word your friend used for my supposed skills?”

Crowley lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

“Perhaps I do and perhaps I don’t,” Aziraphale said primly, making sure everything that needed tying had been tied. “I’ll see you whenever it is our paths should happen to cross next.”

“As you say, angel,” Crowley said, and lifted a hand as Aziraphale prepared to duck back out. “Bene.”

“Bene,” Aziraphale echoed, and left with a smile that he didn’t bother trying to conceal.

* * *

[1] good

[2] diamond

[3] open up

[4] an informant

[5] inform/rat out

[6] a judge

[7] wealthy

[8] fuck off!

[9] honest man

[10] wealthy (alternate term)

[11] hanged

[12] thievery

[13] call the police

[14] counterfeiter

[15] counterfeiting

[16] fat bastards

[17] steal

[18] noontime

[19] coin shavings (to melt down)

[20] tavern-owner

[21] swapped

[22] fake coins

[23] murder

[24] get out of here

[25] fucking

[26] beer

[27] midnight

[28] thieves who switch fake coins for real ones

**Author's Note:**

> Why, yes, Aziraphale _does_ have a competence kink when it comes to Crowley. :D 
> 
> Fun fact: the coin Crowley tossed his friends was a ten-shilling piece, also known as an angel. 
> 
> I can be found on Tumblr as godihatethisfreakingcat.


End file.
